


Tick, Tock (The hands spin back and forth)

by UnderlandsCreator



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Time Traveler's Wife, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-20 14:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4791386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnderlandsCreator/pseuds/UnderlandsCreator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham is a man lost in time, and Hannibal Lecter is the person that he always seems to keep finding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Age 11, second encounter. Age 5, first encounter

He is cold and alone. His mouth is sour with the taste of vomit, and just the thought of what those dogs, those _pigs_ , did to Mischa, poor, sweet, darling Mischa is enough to make him gag, his body trying expel what little of her may be left in him, though the effort is futile, his stomach long since empty after the horrifying realization of what it was he was given to eat.

His clothes are not enough protection against the harsh wind and snow, and he can already feel his joints starting to lock in to place.

The cold reaches deep down inside of him, icy fingers sinking into his bones and holding on tight, forcing his blood to turn sluggish, and making him stop where he is standing.

A fog has fallen over his mind, and all he can see is white. And he is tired, so tired that even though some distant part of his mind is telling him that stopping now would surely spell his death, he can't help but fall against the tree behind his back, slowly sliding down until he is cushioned by the mound of snow lying at its base.

He will....he will close his eyes for only a few moments, and when he opens them again, he will be back in the cabin with his mother, and father, and Mischa. She will smile at him, her golden curls bouncing as she stands up to greet him, her hand outstretched for his.

When he opens his eyes, she will be there, warm, and whole, and _alive_ , and he will put this nightmare behind him.

With every blink his eyes open a little less each time, and soon, the endless white is taken over by black.

He no longer feels cold, he no longer feels anything, and the last thing he is aware of is the thud of footsteps close to his head, and the oddly detached feeling of his body being lifted up, before his mind too, fades to black.

 

* * *

 

When he opens his eyes again, the first thing he is aware of is that he is being held, and that the person holding him is walking.

He tries to kick out, push away from the chest that his head is laying on, but the colds grip on him is as strong as ever, and he can only struggle weakly before exhaustion takes over, and he is forced to lay back against the arms cradling him, his harsh pants for air sending out small clouds of white that are quickly swept away by the wind.

Hannibal finally takes the chance to look at who is holding him, but instead of the faces of one of the pigs looming over him, he sees a vaguely familiar man.

The man turns to look at him when he notices that Hannibal's attention is fixed on his face, and light blue, almost grey eyes meet maroon, chocolate brown curls being swept back by the wind, and he can finally place where he knows the man from.

Back before his family was forced into hiding, and even before Mischa was born, Hannibal liked to explore the forest surrounding his family's castle, and it was on one such exploration that he found himself lost, the setting sun taking with it any light that he would be able to use to find his way out of the forest.

He had set to wandering aimlessly in the direction that he hoped would lead out, but he only seemed to get deeper and deeper into the forest the further he walked.

Hannibal had found his way into a small clearing, and was getting settled down against one of the trees, already resigned to the fact that he would be spending the night outdoors, when a man stepped into the clearing.

He was dressed simply, in a pair of dark pants, and a white button down shirt, though he had no shoes on. Hannibal stared at the man in surprise, knowing that his family was the only one around for miles, and wondering where he had come from.

The man looked equally surprised, and he looked back behind himself, like he was thinking about turning back around, before he turned back to Hannibal, and made his way closer to him.

Hannibal stayed where he was, his knees curled close to his chest, and a rock hidden in his right hand, ready to be thrown if the man came any closer.

 The man stopped a few feet away from him, and they ended up talking for a bit, the man finally able to convince Hannibal that he didn't mean him any harm, and Hannibal accepted his offer of help.

They walked side by side, and after what felt like seconds, they were breaking through the first line of trees, and Hannibal was back in front of his home.

He turned to thank the man, but when he did, he was already gone, with no trace that he had even been there, and no matter how much he looked, he never saw the man again.

In his childish mind, he had chalked up the meeting with the man as being a forest spirit coming to the aid of a lost child, and left it at that.

And now, with him helping Hannibal again, years later, he found himself believing that his childish imaginings about the man might just be true, and that he was a forest spirit, come to his aid again, because how else could he have managed to find him, in the middle of a forest, during a snow storm?

Though he was already too late, Hannibal thought, his thoughts growing hazy again. He could feel every slow thump of his heart, and knew that right now, he was as good as dead, so maybe, maybe the spirit could take him to where Mischa was, maybe that's what he was doing.

Hannibal closed his eyes, the tiredness from before catching up with him again, and settled back in the arms of the forest spirit, his last thought being that soon the nightmare would end, and he would be back with his sister.


	2. Age 11, second encounter

The next time Hannibal opened his eyes, the first thing he was aware of was warmth, surrounding him on all sides.

The first thing he saw was fire.

With the warmth of the fire in front of him, and the blanket wrapped around him, weighing down his shoulders, he honestly believed that everything that had happened must have been a nightmare, and that he was back in the castle in one of the smaller sitting rooms.

If he turned his head he would see Mischa nestled against his side, wrapped in a blanket of her own, though soon enough she would make her way into his, and his father sitting in an arm chair, a glass of wine in hand and his mother stretched out on the small couch, a book in hers.

He turned his head, and instead of the familiar setting he was used to, he was faced with the unfamiliar wall of a cabin ( _not that cabin)_  and arms tightening around him.

"Hannibal, it’s alright now, you're safe." a familiar voice spoke in an unfamiliar language, the only word he was able to recognize being his name.

Hannibal turned his head, and his body around as much as he was able to, caught as he was wrapped in the blanket, cradled between the forest spirits legs, and the warm band of his arms.

 _"I don't speak the language of the forest. Speak Lithuanian again, like you did the first time we met."_ Hannibal said, his gaze only reaching the underside of the forest spirits chin, and the side of his head.

"I thought-, well I suppose it doesn't matter now, you must have learned it later..." the forest spirit mumbled to himself, again in that language, before he turned his face towards him, his eyes focused on a point just above Hannibal's own.

 _"I'm sorry, is this better?"_ the spirit asked softly, and Hannibal nodded his head, before the question that he had been holding back, since he realized that the world he had thought to be a nightmare was the one he was living in, broke through the cage of his teeth, and the barrier of his lips.

 _"Why didn't you bring me to Mischa? She's waiting for me."_ Hannibal asked, the words tasting like ash on his tongue, but even that wasn't enough to mask  _her_  taste.

 _"I'm sorry, but I can't. She's dead Hannibal, and you know that."_ The spirit told him gently, a small frown on his face as he smoothed down Hannibal’s still slightly damp hair with thin, pale fingers.

Hannibal tolerated that for a moment, before shaking the hand off and finally turning around completely, pushing forward so that he was facing the spirit upright on his knees, forcing him to look Hannibal in the eye.

 _"I do, and I should be dead too, that's why you have to take me to her, so that she is not alone. I'm her brother, I have to protect her, in life, and...and in death."_ Hannibal said flatly, because even though his heart was still beating, his lungs continued to take in air, he was dead on the inside, hollow.

His body was alive, but that was it. His soul was with Mischa, in a place where those pigs could no longer hurt her.

 _"I understand how you feel Hannibal, truly, I do. It’s like you're empty inside, your very essence missing, the only thing left a craving for things to be as they once were, but they can't. You're alive, and you can't succumb to what they did to you."_ The spirit said, and in his blue-gray eyes, Hannibal could only see himself, exactly as the spirit had described.

He was pale, lifeless, someone who wasn't strong enough to protect the only person he had left in his life, and suddenly he wasn't empty anymore. He was filled with hatred and disgust, for the pigs, but mostly for himself.

Someone like him, weak and pathetic, not strong enough to avenge Mischa's murder with the blood of even one of those pigs, didn't deserve to live in place of her.

In a sudden movement Hannibal was on his feet, the blanket slipping from his shoulders to pool on the floor around his feet, leaving him as naked as the day he was born, the sudden exposure leaving his front to be prickled by needles of cold, while his back remained warmed by the fire.

He had spotted the fire pokers by the side of the fire place while he was sitting down, and now, his eyes still locked with the forest spirit's, he reached over to grab one, the cold metal biting into the palm of his hand.

 _"If you would punish me by not bringing me to her because I am still alive, then I will die, by my own hand, and you can do so then."_ Hannibal whispered, gripping the poker in both hands, lifting it as high as he could so that he would stab himself, if not in the heart, than at least the stomach, so that his death would be quick like his parents, or slow and painful as Mischa's must have been.

Time seemed to stop, and with the forest spirit's slowly widening horror filled eyes, Hannibal brought his arms down, but the blow never came.

The fire poker fell to the floor with a clatter, having been ripped away from him and dropped carelessly to the side by the forest spirit who was suddenly hugging him on his knees, Hannibal’s face pressed against the side of his neck, the spirit’s curls soft on his cheek.

Hannibal's fists were balled up and trapped between their chests, and he suddenly felt drained, the energy that had propelled him forward gone, and he leaned into the embrace, breathing in the scent of the forest from the spirit’s skin and clothes, and it was only after he did that he became aware of the words being whispered into the air.

" _I'm sorry Hannibal, I'm not trying to punish you, and you haven't done anything to deserve being punished for either. You're alive for a reason, and I'm sorry again that you can't see that. Please, if you can't find a reason to live for yourself, than live for Mischa, live for me."_ The spirit told him in an urgent tone of voice, squeezing Hannibal tighter to himself for a second, before pushing him away to arm’s length.

"I wish I could stay with you longer, but my time’s up, and the you of the future is probably pacing around his kitchen impatiently, wondering where I am, though the answer should be obvious." the spirit muttered to himself, a small smile on his face as Hannibal looked on, uncomprehending.

The spirit noticed his look and brought Hannibal in for one more hug before standing up, dragging the blanket with him, and wrapping it back around Hannibal's shoulders.

 _"I'm sorry, but I have to leave now, even though I_   _don't want to, but if you stay in the cabin, some people from the town will be here soon to take you to safety."_ the spirit said, an apologetic look on his face, and Hannibal was hit with a sudden panic at his words, because if the spirit left now, Hannibal would be alone again, and the thoughts that had previously consumed him, and were only now being held at bay by the spirits presence, would swallow him whole again, and he would fall into a black pit that only death could save him from.

 _"You can't leave."_ Hannibal said, his voice small, grabbing onto the spirit with a slightly trembling hand.

 _"I'm sorry, I have no choice, but I promise that this won't be the last time that you see me Hannibal, I swear it."_ the spirit said, gently removing his hand, before bending down to press a butterfly soft kiss to his forehead, there and then gone.

 _"Goodbye Hannibal."_ the spirit said, straightening up, and then with no warning he was gone, his words echoing in the still cabin air, the only sign that he had ever been there at all.


End file.
